Star Wars in the Desk Drawer

One summer, while on vacation with my two cousins, my siblings and I introduced them to Star Wars. (Episodes IV-VI…not the prequels.) At one point when we stopped for lunch (we were watching them in the car on the long ride there and back) and had this conversation. (We were testing to see how well they were paying attention.)
Me: “Who is Luke related to?”
Cousin Tyler: “I don’t know, Obi Wan?” (This from the kid who stopped watching New Hope during the escape from the Death Star and doesn’t even know what happens to Obi Wan…. *sigh*)
Me: “Josh, who is Luke related to?”
Cousin Josh: “C3-P0!”
(Entire table dissolves into hysterical laughter)
Me: “No!”
Josh: “Leia?”
Tyler: “Is Leia his aunt?”
(This conversation went on and on…)

Josh’s speech (he was eight at the time) was especially startling/amusing since he was completely enthralled by both New Hope and Empire Strikes Back―we have rather amusing pictures of him staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the TV during both of them. However, about fifteen minutes into Return of the Jedi, during the Jabba’s Palace scenes, he got a very funny look on his face and said, “This is Star Wars??!!” :-D But…don’t we all think that during the Jabba the Hut scenes? (and for most of the prequels?)

What it was… was Hockey

My brother and I went to a pro-hockey game last night and I have to say it was pretty entertaining. I like hockey―though I prefer to watch the highlights on TV―but it is fun to go to a game once in awhile―especially since our team won. :-) However, I was very amused by the behavior of the season ticket holders seated nearby. (We know someone with season tickets and they got us seats about five rows from the ice. Sweet huh? :-) ) Its strange how the fans think that the players can 1: hear them and 2: care about what they say/yell. At one point, our team had a power play but they weren’t doing anything with it, and this one huge jersey wearing season ticket holder, who heretofore had been quiet, yells at the top of his lungs, “IT’S A POWER PLAY!” If I’d been holding anything at that moment I certainly would have dropped it but thankfully I wasn’t so I just giggled to myself. Our team finally scored and everyone jumped to their feet; then, the season ticket holders went around and high-fived each other and even embraced―I mean, you’d think that they’d been the ones to score and not the players. It was really funny. :-D So then, we’re in the 3rd period, a player swings a little too close to the referee, and jersey guy decides that it’s imperative to yell, “HIT THE REF!” And I’m sure the ref. heard it…the season ticket holders seem to hate the refs. Other season ticket holders yell at the players, and some of the things they say are kind of nasty…. I think the players must decide to be deaf or are so into the game that they don’t hear the things people yell at them. Though it was amusing when the jersey guy yelled, “THE PUCK IS RIGHT THERE!” and I’m thinking, “Yes, I’m sure the player is well aware of that since he's the one pushing the puck along with his stick.” Oh and having people yell “SHOOT! SHOOT!” as if the players need their advice is extremely funny too. The mascot came down by us―I detest mascots―and my brother and I sat there whispering, “Don’t come near us, don’t come near us…” (He didn’t come near us.) We also saw a fight…and the season ticket holders were yelling “FIGHT! FIGHT!” You know…I wonder why the players beat each other up… if I were them… I’d go after those season ticket holders. *evil smile*

:-)

Plink!

On Wednesday night, (the 25th) I had gone with Mom to the jeweler to have her rings appraised. Once there, I remembered that I’d been meaning to bring in a loose cut stone that I’ve had for years so I can ask the jeweler to examine it. It looks like a white opal and I’ve always wondered if it’s real. I found the opal in a bag of old jewelry that my great aunt gave me—she used to run an antique shop and gave me whatever didn’t sell. Anyway, I decide to hunt around online and see if there is a way to determine if an opal is real. One site informed me that if an opal is fake, then a hot needle will be able to penetrate it and if it’s real, the needle can’t go through the stone. That sounds easy enough, so I get the stone from my jewelry box and go to the kitchen to find a lighter. Now, my sister is cooking dinner and I prefer not to be asked what I’m doing, so I go into the bathroom with the lighter and shut the door. (Can you tell what’s about to happen?) I heat the needle and pull the opal out of my pocket and.... The next thing I know, I’ve dropped the opal and it’s spinning around the sink like a penny in one of those plastic circles at the zoo. I try to grab it but then, clink, clatter, plink! It’s fallen down the drain. When something like this happens, you tend to stare at the drain for a few moments, with sort of a sick feeling in your stomach, before you even begin to react. And thinking, “Why didn’t I shut the drain?” is perfectly useless at this point. (Besides, the drain cover for that sink doesn’t work.) Once I manage to move, I know I can’t leave the opal in the pipe...I’ve had it for too long (sentimental value) and it could be real (monetary value). So, I open the lower cupboard and examine the pipe; it’s thick and will require a large wrench to remove the catch. I summon Mom—who groans and tells me to find a wrench—so I go to the basement and look in Dad’s wrench drawer. Unfortunately, Dad doesn’t really have a large plumber’s wrench—like the one in the Clue game—and I take another kind upstairs. Mom and I try that one for a while and it doesn’t work―it won’t lock to the right size―and I have to go back down and bring up another one. That one doesn’t work either and I go back down to find a third...my nerves are getting pretty strung out by now but I find one that locks and take it upstairs. This one works... finally. The catch slowly unscrews, we take it off, and the opal (real or not) appears as soon as we dump the water from the catch into a pan. So now I’ve got it back but we have to put the piping, back together…we screw the catch back on as tight as it will go and run the water. It leaks…but only a little. We don’t have any of the putty that plumbers put on pipes to make a watertight seal so we placed a little dish underneath to catch the drips. The plumber is coming in a week or two (he was already coming for something else) so we’ll have him putty it when he comes. I think it’s a racket that they can’t make the plumbing plumber free but oh well… at least I got my opal back. And after it went through all that, I tried to stick a hot needle in it―I was well away from any sinks this time. It wouldn’t go in...which means that it is likely a real opal. So, I’m really glad that we rescued it. :-)

:-)

Grey Sky’s Blue

As I was driving home today from Ick, under the cloudy sky, it began to rain. It’s done that a lot this year. And at times, I wonder, “Is it raining in space?” :-) But then I remembered something. I noticed this in 2005, when I was flying home from Florida. It was a beautiful, clear day but as the plane landed, we went through many layers of grey clouds. By the time we were on the runway, it was misting and the clouds were so low they nearly touched the ground. But above the clouds… I knew that the sky was still blue. It had some kind of effect upon me because when it’s nasty outside I often remember that experience. The sky is always blue above the clouds and the stars still shine even when you can’t see them.

:-)

April Day

My siblings and I deliver May Baskets every May Day to friends and neighbors; we’re way too old now but the people around town would miss them if we didn’t so I’m never going to stop. :-) Anyway, this note is dated May 1, 2007 and is something that my younger brother said: “We could have April Day! Only instead of flowers we could use ants… and we’d only give them to people we don’t like!" I wonder how well that would go over? :-)


:-)

Why I Like Cats

I’ve always liked cats better than dogs… perhaps for these reasons: 1: Dogs bark (cats can yowl but only about half of them actually do) 2: Dogs lick you and breathe on you. (I mean, come on, it’s really gross when you think about it. Now, a cat will never lick you unless it’s deranged.) 3: Dogs require grooming. (Cats are self-washing.) Besides, a good cat will sit quietly on your lap for a long time and purr…dogs can’t purr. :-) Don’t get me wrong, I don’t detest all dogs―I’ve known some very nice and well-behaved dogs (but not many). And there’s always Snoopy…. However, here’s why I hate dogs right now. I live in a small town and some of my neighbors have dogs―normally, these are well-loved and well cared for animals that don’t bark very often. However, in the summer, I think, “Farfel” moved in across the street. (I’ve nicknamed him Farfel in reference to the Seinfeld episode, “The Dog,”) I don’t know what kind of dog he is because I’ve never been able to see him―but I suspect he’s medium to full size. But I can hear him. Farfel barks at odd times all through the day (and maybe all through the night, thank heavens I have a white noisemaker!). He’s got to be the most annoying dog in the whole world. "I'm not sure this is a dog." He tends to bark right as I’m working on homework―thus, I turn on my iPod and drown him out with music. I hate that dog so much. Yes, I know. I should feel sorry for it and I sort of do―I mean, who lets their dog bark all day long?? But hey, I’d be really happy if God sent a random lightning bolt to strike Farfel. I’ve thought about dieffenbachia sap―which temporarily freezes the vocal cords―but dismissed that idea. (What if it tried to eat me instead of the sap? Or the owners caught me?) I asked my Dad what happens if you call animal control about a barking dog but I think he forgot to ask around. I’ve vowed that I don’t want to have a dog ever―unless, I find a mutt who is quiet and peaceful. (I detest purebreds―they have two traits: 1: weird health and behaviour problems due to over breeding and 2: bragging rights. I was talking to a former friend of mine―who is big into purebreds―once about the Peanuts comic strip and I said, “Snoopy is so funny,” and then my friend sniffed, “Isn’t Snoopy a Beagle? I don’t like Beagles.” No wonder we aren’t friends anymore. :-D) Meanwhile, Farfel is barking as I type. Losing mind… turning up Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers to restore sanity….


I thought these quotes from Seinfeld were particularly amusing since they reflect how I feel right now….
New scene.
Jerry's apartment, he's got all of his furniture up and there's a loud incessant barking coming from the bedroom. Jerry and Farfel are playing 'tug of war' with one of Jerry's sneakers. Elaine is in the kitchen.
Jerry: Let go, Farfel! Let go, gimme that! Gimme the sneaker you stupid idiot! Shut up!
Jerry: (to Farfel) STOP IT! SHUT UUUUUUP!!! (to Elaine) Do you believe this?
Do you believe what I'm dealing with here; I've got a wild animal in the house!
He's deranged, maybe he's got rabies. I can get lockjaw.
Elaine: If only.

Later...
Jerry hangs up the phone and begins singing and dancing.
Jerry: Going to the dog pound, everybody! Going to the dog pound, come on down. (To Elaine) What?
Elaine: Do you have to?
Jerry: What am I supposed to do? I don't want to do it. I like dogs. I'm not sure this is a dog.
Elaine: You know, the guy might have just lost your number.
Jerry: I'm in the book and I have a machine.
Elaine: Jerry, do you know what they do to dogs at the pound? They keep themthere for a week and then if nobody claims them, they kill them.
Jerry: Really? How late are they open?

New scene.
Elaine and Farfel are playing 'tug of war' with a jacket.
Elaine: Gimme the jacket, furface, this is not Seinfeld you're dealing with!
When I get through with you, you'll be begging to go to the pound!
The phone rings, Farfel begins barking.
Elaine: Shut up. Shut up! (Answers phone) Hello? No, who's calling? Oh my, the dog guy. Where have *you* been? Yeah, well you better pick up your dog tonight or he has humped his last leg.

http://www.seinfeldscripts.com/TheDog.htm

Hehehehe

:-)

The Magically Evolving Sauce

I spent most of today doing homework―that’s what comes from spending two days at your grandma’s house…but it was a fun two days so that makes up for the homework. Anyway, rather than work on my research paper anymore, I think I will tell the tale of my Eggs Benedict experiment. Now, Eggs Benedict is basically an Egg McMuffin (the McDonalds breakfast sandwich) with hollandaise sauce poured over it. I’ve always wanted to try Eggs Benedict so; I gathered the ingredients for making the sandwich (English muffins, Canadian bacon, American cheese, and eggs.) Now, the first day I decided to attempt this experiment was a Saturday and my Dad decided that since I’d acquired all the ingredients for Egg McMuffins that he had to have one. I was a little annoyed since I had to make it for him and this delayed my breakfast. (I can become rather cranky if I don’t eat…and/or I get all shaky and weird from low blood sugar.) He did help though and the next thing I know, he’s taken the American cheese from the refrigerator and said, “Looks like this is the last piece.” Now, these sandwiches are worthless without cheese and I know it. So, I’m frying the egg for his sandwich, biting my tongue, and wanting to say a few choice words about putting American cheese on the shopping list…but I don’t. After all, it’s not Dad’s fault and I know that―it’s just a very irritating circumstance. And, at least I hadn’t made the hollandaise yet. So Dad gets his sandwich and I go upstairs and vent in private.
Attempt #2…. A few days later, with American cheese in the fridge, I decided to try again. In a double boiler, I mix butter, egg yolks, hot water, pepper, and lemon juice. (I had to run down to my grandma’s to find the lemon juice and thankfully, she had some.) Once it’s mixed, I taste the sauce and make a face. Don’t let anyone fool you; hollandaise sauce is one of the nastiest concoctions on earth. I made it correctly and it was smooth and just as it was supposed to be but ugh! It tasted like melted butter, with egg yolks, and lemon juice. No, there is no magic in the recipe―it tastes just like its ingredients. Double yuck, yuck. There I am, with half a recipe of hollandaise sauce and I hate it. Enter Mom. “You know, it’s basically a custard with the egg yolks and butter…why don’t you add sugar and make it into lemon custard?” Okay, that sounds reasonable. I pull out the old cookbook and find custard recipes―it is very similar―and mix in the right amount of sugar. It’s palatable as custard and except for the few grains of pepper; you’d never know it used to be hollandaise sauce. I tasted it and probably could have eaten it if I hadn’t made it and smelled it when it was in its prior state. My brother ate it and said it was good. I still had egg whites left over and under the custard recipes; I see a recipe for “Floating Island” which is mentioned in the Betsy-Tacy books and is basically soft custard with meringue topping. Aha! Something to do with the egg whites! So I whisk up the meringue and now I have Floating Island. When my sister got home from work I said, “I made floating island, you know like in Betsy-Tacy.” What I didn’t tell her was that the Floating Island was once hollandaise sauce… at least, not until um...now. :-D


:-)

The Door

Our back door has been acting up. We installed it three years ago and the hinges are basically useless. I mean, when they work, they work but they don’t, they don’t. And right now, they don’t. Basically, the door is not hanging right and gets stuck. We can barely open or close it right now. Mom made me use the front door when I got home from Ick yesterday. This can be quite a feat, since the front door is old and you have to pull it towards you while un-locking...and if you’re holding thirty pounds in books and swatting away Asian beetles... you deserve a medal for reaching the interior. I thought the key was going to break off in the lock...I really did. Anyway, the miscreant back door is from a well-known company with the bonus of terrible customer service. Mom called and it’ll take 2 weeks for them to even consider doing anything about it. (And it’s under warranty too.) I wonder if the darn thing were to fall off and smash someone if they’d even care.
Oh, and on top of all that, our e-mail’s been acting up and sending duplicate e-mails at weird times. It’s kind of embarrassing. Oh well... all these things make good material for writing and they can be rather funny if put in the proper prospective. That’s why I started this blog... because "It takes time to be funny. It takes time to extract joy from life." - Hollie Baylor, Elizabethtown, 2005. And it really does.

:-)

Notes from the Desk Drawer

I inherited a writing desk from my great-grandmother and it has quaint little drawers in the fold-down part. When I write bits of things down, I stuff them in one of the little drawers―waiting for the right moment to use them, of course. Well, as the Walrus said, “The time has come!” So here’s something I’ve pulled from the drawer…expect more of these from time to time.

A conversation with my younger brother… dated 3/11/07.
Me – “Your face is always dirty…why don’t you wash it?”
My brother – (In a highly offended/dignified tone) “Just what do you think I am?”
Me – “A slob.”
As I recall, he tried to look offended―but cracked up laughing and gave himself away. He’s older now so he’s not a slob anymore.

:-)

The Pink Duck

Today when I went to Ick, it was raining (rather hard) and was very windy (I’d like to talk to whoever decided to build Ick on a river bluff) and was extremely cold. As I trek to the main building from my car (it’s a very long way), I’m wearing this pink raincoat with a hood and I’m thinking, “I look like a 5 foot three pink duck.” Then, I argue with myself, “Who cares what I look like? It’s pouring down rain and no one cares if I look like a pink duck!” Other side of my brain, “I do! I’ll just keep my head down and then no one will see my face.” But by the time I’m halfway to the building I’ve forgotten all about such things and am just trying to keep my hands from resembling icicles. So now you all know that I argue with myself sometimes and that when I use the hood on my raincoat I look like a pink duck.

:-)

My Life… Reduced to Paper

About 10 days ago, I mailed off an application for another college and it’s the one that I really, really, really, want to attend. Inside the envelope was a form, an essay, recommendations from two highly educated people, a check, and various transcripts. As I watched the postmistress stamp the envelope, I kept thinking, “My entire life… reduced to paper. *sob*” I’m too young to die, I’m too nice to die, I’m too me to die! (As you can see, I’m more than a little nervous about it.) This college process is highly over-rated.

(By the way, the “I’m too such and such to die” is something Snoopy think/speaks in Peanuts.)

:-)

‘Tis Pity, ‘Tis True

So last week, I ran into someone I used to know in the library at Ick. She’s about the last person I would have expected to see in the library because she used to pick on me for being studious. We didn’t always get along in the old days...I’m not sure exactly why…but I’ve always suspected that she was jealous about something. (Wish I knew what I have that was worth being jealous about… :-D) While she was talking to me, I spent most of the time inwardly laughing at myself. Why? Because I’d forgotten something that morning that I never forget on school days. But yes… it’s true. I forgot my make-up. So now, she’s probably telling all of our old “friends” how young/pale/blotchy/etc. I look. Oh well. I don’t like wearing make-up anyway and so it normally has lost its effect by that time of day because I forget about touching it up. (I know, I’m a regular Jo March…I’d probably fry my own hair with a curling iron if I wasn’t careful. :-D) And I’m pale no matter what I do unless I’m embarrassed and then I look like a lobster. At least I didn’t look like a lobster. Right?

:-)

Conversation with Mom

“I set up a blog today...you know about random tidbits.”

“Hmm.” (Looking through the fridge)

“Guess what I called it?”

“Umm…little pieces of crap?”

“No!!!” (gasping between spasms of laughter)

Mom can be startlingly wacky.

:-)

Where to Begin

To begin…I suppose I should explain about the design of the site and my penname. In 1994, when I was four-years-old, I was dying to see a certain movie. It had recently been released and my older sister had gone to see it―I think everyone thought I was too young to appreciate this film. But, a kind soul took pity on me and took me to the theatre in the next small town…and the rest is history. The picture was Little Women and it’s the first movie that I remember seeing in a theatre. I was completely entranced by Little Women―especially Jo and the scenes where she was writing in the attic. Although I know that writing was already in my blood, I suspect that Little Women had a cementing influence upon my always knowing what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Fast-forward, 11 years….

When I told some family members I wanted to be a writer, at the age of fifteen, I was stunned at being immediately told, “You’ll starve.” I mean, come on, I’m fifteen! Leave the girl some hope for the future! :-D

But, who do you suppose said this?

Could it be?

Yes, it came from the person who took me to see Little Women back in 1994.

How weird is that?

*Laugh* I guess this writing business is all their fault....

So that’s why I’m Jo... now, enough of this and on to the anecdotes.

:-)